Kongou, the Improper British Gentlelady
by CuttySark
Summary: "...I would've said that she had the look of your typical nymphomanic yankee cockwrangler, yet her face tells me otherwise. I see in her purity that no one can possibly match...'
1. The Cheerful Warmaiden

**A/N : I'm experimenting a bit with this story.**

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Situational awareness is always important when trying to get out of a wankering mess you've put yourself into. Then again, if I did have said situational awareness, I probably wouldn't be in this situation in the first place.

But sod it, I'm going to try anyway. Let's see if I can survive this arsebucket of a predicament without losing my neck, shall we?

The Pacific, true to its name, is as calm as always as if mocking my dire condition. None of my comrades is in sight. I am more alone than a decent human being in the House of Parliament. In retrospect, I shouldn't have let myself be lured out of the formation by a single enemy battleship like I did. I'd like to justify myself by saying that said battleship had managed to hit my dear little sister Haruna, thus vindicating my cause in the court of law by virtue of sisterly wrath, but no, I was just being an idiot.

There are currently about three Abyssal post-dread battleships in front of me. One of these gigantic arsenuggets completely outclasses me in every way, and now I have to face about twenty-seven high-velocity sixteen-inch deathcannons each able to hurl super-heavy doom from Dover to Glasgow in six minutes with terrifying accuracy.

A less experienced lass by this point would simply turn their rudder and run, but I, being the genius that I am, know very well that turning right now would only serve to expose my side, thus giving these blasted spawnlings of questionable parentage a clear shot at my delicious, premium quality boilers and machinery. Now, I think we can agree that the world would be a much lesser place than it already is without me, so let's not do that, shall we?

One of the many guns being pointed at me suddenly sings. I can hear the booming sound long before I can see the giant water column forming right beside me from a straddling shot. They're trying to judge the range.

One thing to remember when it comes to naval gunnery is that we can become more accurate the more we try to hit the same target over multiple salvos. Given that I am currently the only target on the sea for these cockblasted Abyssal to shoot at, I have to think quickly if I don't want my name to be added to the Sunday obituaries.

Acting like a newly minted young battleship, (that I most certainly am not, mind), I sail in a straight line, giving the enemy the perfect firing solution. I know they have taken the bait when the sound not unlike that of the wail of a dying god echoes across the ocean, signalling a full fleet salvo heading my way.

Straining my gears, I put myself into full reverse, decreasing my speed even as I whip my helmsman fairy back into the stone age in an evasive manoeuvre more aggressive than Margaret Thatcher's foreign policy. The twenty-six shells miss me just by mere metres, creating a blast so strong it's making me somewhat sympathetic towards Miss Nagato.

If my knowledge of high calibre naval cannons is dependable, and it is, mind, then I should have about thirty seconds to turn tail and run like a bloody mad hound before they finish their reload. Keeping my rudder angled, I break the wave and sail against the wind, running away. Now, as a Japanese proudly bearing the (modified) Rising Sun, some might expect me to face the impossible odd and fight on for my country in some sort of a dramatic last stand.

But seriously? Bollock that.

Salt and water fly all around me as enemy shells rain down, fully intent on giving me a gigantic structurally superfluous new porthole. These new Abyssal battleships are troublesome. I am faster than them, but only by mere three knots or so, and the one thing that you'll rarely encounter on a clear sea is a place to hide.

Bollocks.

It takes me only about five minutes of desperate running to realise that I am screwed. My boilers are exhausted, my rudder is heavy, and each close call is getting closer and closer. My two back turrets fire in defiance, but my measly fourteen-inch shells are easily deflected on the enemy's curved armoured bows.

A flash of memory crosses my mind, the memory of my death. My previous death. Then I realise something.

I've been given a second chance, and I've properly buggered it like a right gibbon.

When my ears catch yet another tell-tale explosion of a naval gun being fired, it comes from in front of me, meaning that there's a fourth ship firing at me from the other direction of the others, completely blocking my escape route.

I smile sadly, oddly content with my own second death. It is over now. Might as well take it with a grin.

But then my gloomy acceptance of death is rudely interrupted by the sight of one of the Abyssal battleships exploding into million pieces.

I blink. I probably look like an idiot right now, but blinking with my mouth open in surprised disbelief really is the only thing I can do right now. Sue me.

Another explosion sound comes from in front of me, and I can feel the familiar sensation of a heavy shell flying past me at supersonic speed right before yet another of the battleships behind me explodes.

It doesn't take long for the last of the Abyssal to join its comrades.

As the sea slowly becomes quiet again, only leaving the sound of the waves, I realise that I am still pushing my machinery to keep me at full flank. I quickly slow down, but keep my guns raised in case of hostiles. Nevertheless, I let out a relieved sigh, for I've expected to be sinking right at this moment.

Now, since I do not see the heaven opening up for the gods to reach down and give me some sort of a divine quest, I assume that my survival is not as much a divine intervention than the fact that I really, really should thank somebody right now. I quickly scan the horizon for my saviour.

It does not take long, for her long blond hair clashes readily against the reddening evening sky. On the horizon, way further than the effective range of my main battery, a battleship I do not recognise waves at me among her cadre of escorting destroyers. Even from where I am, I can clearly see her massive grin filled with pearly teeth that seem to reflect the sunset.

The distance almost makes me doubt that this girl is the reason I am still afloat. The event of my rescue was a one-shot-one-kill affair, and a battleship cannons are not sniper rifles. But as we're getting closer, her victorious, almost smug expression and literal smoking guns wipe away all doubts that yes, I do owe this person my gratitude.

She is wearing what looks like a combination of a grey corset and a miniskirt plus an asymmetrical set of knee-socks, though like some Kanmusu I know her clothing is rather hard to describe in words. To make things simple, I would've said that she had the look of your typical nymphomanic yankee cockwrangler, yet her face tells me otherwise. I see in her purity that no one can possibly match, reaching almost to the point of innocence. She's huge and muscular and is certainly battle-tested, yet still, I feel an irrational desire to protect her every time her literal starry eyes look at me.

These, however, are not the only feature of the girl that I notice.

'Jubilees, fun bags, jugs, mammaries, STONKING. GREAT. TITS.' are the words that suddenly pass in my mind. I do not say them out loud, of course, for I am a dignified gentlelady of perfectly marriageable age. Instead, I bow politely, or at least as far as my cumbersome rigging allows.

"I thank you for my rescue." I say in English. Proper English, of course, pronunciation and all, not the gibberish those traitors spew in the colony.

"That was close, Nana!" the foreign battleship says in a cheerful and brash tone, almost as if she had not heard me speaking at all.

"Nana?"

"Yes! Because you're old!"

I admit. I am somewhat taken aback by this comment. Perhaps I am too used to the politeness of my fellow Japanese. But then again, I know that they still secretly talk about my age behind my back, so in a way, I appreciate her honesty.

Her sincere, childlike smile as she says the words does not hurt her cause, in any case. In fact, it makes me want to act like her actual kind grandma.

"I am, aren't I?" I say, laughing playfully. "I do not know how long these old bones of mine can keep on fighting. Well, the more I'm glad that you're here. You are Iowa, I presume?"

Our base has been expecting the first wave of American reinforcement for a while now, and apparently, they have chosen their most advanced battleship as a vanguard of the new alliance. In fact, my battlegroup initially has been sent out as a welcoming party, before all that fiasco with the Abyssal ambush.

"Yup! Yup!" Iowa nods her head up and down in an overt manner that shakes her entire torso. Another part of her body also goes up and down, but I'm actively trying to ignore it...them.

"USS Iowa! Birthed proudly by the hands of the people of New York!" Iowa almost shouts. "And some from New Jersey, probably."

"I see, Iowa from New York, huh?" I say, holding down a giggle. There's just something about her youthful enthusiasm that makes me feel almost half a century younger.

"Correct!" Iowa shouts again. I wonder if she's unable to say anything without an exclamation mark?

"Well, then, Japanese battleship Kongou, at your service." I say, offering my hand.

To my surprise, my offered hand is suddenly answered by a full-on glomp.

"Nice to meet you!" Iowa says directly into my ears as she bends down to meet my height.

'Ukh...they look big, but they feel even bigger...' I quickly bury this thought, focusing instead on the fact that I'm slowly being strangled to death by the massive American ship. I look around to the destroyers, seeking help, but all five of them merely snicker at my situation. Cheeky buggers.

Then, for the first time ever, I see the constant smile on Iowa's face disappears.

"You're hurt!"

My hand promptly moves to the place where Iowa is pointing at, and indeed, when I pull my hand in front of my eyes, my fingers are wet with blood.

"Huh...must've been a shrapnel." I say, somewhat perturbed. The fact that I haven't noticed my wound up until now means either it is a small wound, or the shrapnel that had cut me was extremely sharp.

"Stay still, please."

"Wha-"

Without warning, Iowa grabs me by the back of my head and leans her face closer to mine.

"What are you doing?"

My question is answered by an uncharacteristic silence as Iowa pulls a lock of her blond hair and starts wiping my cheek with it. The pristine gold colour is quickly stained by the dirty brownish-red of my quickly oxidising blood. It makes me feel somewhat guilty, as if I had tainted her somehow.

"You don't have a handkerchief or something?" I say even as I reach for my own wiping fabric. Then I realise that my pocket has been torn cleanly open. Blasted.

"Nu-uh." Iowa shakes her head as she continues cleaning my wound, and I find myself making a mental note to knit her a handkerchief later.

"Don't worry, my fairies always keep my hair clean." Iowa says, as if hygiene is the highest in my priority right now. After she is satisfied with wiping my wound, a fairy wearing an engineer uniform pops out of her exposed cleavage, bringing a standard, store-bought band-aid in her tiny hand.

An American damage control fairy, the envy of many navies, emerges out of a giant bosom to offer me a cocking band-aid. Brilliant.

Iowa takes the band-aid from the fairy, who quickly sinks back into her breasts. As she gently sticks the band-aid on my face, I notice that Iowa's fingers are more delicate and agile than their size would suggest.

"That should do for now!" Iowa smiles, wider than ever. Her expression is so that I can readily believe that, in her mind, the pride of helping a friend easily equals that of any military victory. I find myself unable to not smile with her.

"Thank you." I say, trying to keep my composure. "Again, I mean."

"You're welcome!" Iowa puffs her chest out in pride, making her-no, I will not let my mind strays there again.

"Uh, excuse me."

A new, authoritative voice suddenly enters the conversation. I turn to see a Fletcher-class destroyer with short, messy blond hair. Aside from her rigging, she is wearing a cream shirt and a black trouser, all worn neatly with a belt, giving her an androgynous look that many girls tend to fall for.

"As difficult it is for me to break off such a sweet interaction, we really need to get going." the destroyer begins. It is somewhat jarring to hear such a powerful voice coming out of such a small vessel. Though the Fletcher-class is rather large for a destroyer.

"I assume you're not the only one sent out to escort us?"

I nod, swallowing the bitter pill of my own failure that has gotten me separated from my own task force. "We have a set rendezvous point to use in case of separation. I'll give it to you."

A few minutes of radio transmission later, Iowa's entire group have received the coordinate, ready to sail out.

"Is standard formation alright, Miss Iowa?" asked the boyish destroyer, clearly not willing to jump the probably higher ranked battleship.

"Eh, can I just leave it up to you, Cassin?" Iowa says lazily, clearly not willing to bear the burden of command.

"As you wish." obeys Cassin as she starts relaying orders to her fellow destroyers.

"Miss Kongou, could you sail behind Iowa? That way your wakes should be more manageable for our rear guard."

"Of course." I answer.

When the formation begins to move, I quickly position myself inside of Iowa's wake, covering a small destroyer behind me. Said destroyer, however, quickly sails away from her position and then forward until she is sailing right beside me. She's wearing the exact same outfit as Cassin, and their faces are similar, as you'd expect from sisters. Her hair, however, makes her easily distinguishable. It's long, yet looks stiff like cement, flaring upwards and red like a bonfire she wears on her head. It's not helping that she wears an expression that suggests that she's the kind of person that wouldn't mind lighting an actual bonfire on her head, with her maniacal smile and wild yellow eyes.

"So, are you smitten yet?" the destroyer asks.

"What?" I ask back, confused.

"Iowa, of course!" the destroyer declares as if that were an obvious fact. "I saw how you're looking at her."

My eyes quickly dart towards Iowa, making sure that we're sailing far enough apart that she can't possibly hear the destroyer.

"See? You're eyeing her up again."

Oi, buggers.

"I did not!" I almost shout. I know that being so spirited in my denial will only serve to add to the suspicion, but my fast beating heart does not allow me to be the calm and collected battleship that I usually am.

"Oh, you so did!"

"Gatling! Get back in the formation!" I can hear Cassin's powerful voice barking from the front of the formation.

"Whoops, busted!" Gatling says mischievously, jutting out her tongue. She quickly slows down, going back to her position at the back of the formation.

"In any case, she seems to like you. Your life will be much more exciting in the next few years, guaranteed."

I must say that her naughty smile does not instil confidence in me.

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 **()**

 **A/N: Damn, I had a lot of fun writing that.**


	2. Initial Difficulties

**A/N: I'm doing this story to practice writing in first person present tense, so there might be some mistakes.**

 **And yes, I do aware that stories in present tense tend to annoy people, I just want to train a little. Sorry.**

 **OOO**

 **OOO**

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I. Am. Tired.

My admiral certainly did not hold back when she made it clear to me that my mistake yesterday was not appreciated. I spent so many hours in the captain quarters of the JDS Kaga being chewed on by that middle-aged woman. So many that I ended up sleeping in almost until noon due to the combined fatigue of being shot at in the field and the administrational nightmare all-nighter.

When I woke up, my sisters were all already gone from our shared room, leaving me alone on the top bunk in one of the two bunk beds that were our amenities. Where are they now I have no idea. Kanmusu posted in aircraft carriers, or helicopter destroyers as the politicians like to call them, have a somewhat similar status as that of naval aviators, meaning that we're all privileged bastards with way too much free time.

Currently, I am standing on the flight deck, staring at the seemingly endless sea of the Japanese Exclusive Economic Zone. I think I can just see the remnant of a Chinese military base just near the horizon.

I walk around all the transport helicopters being prepped for today's operations. Most of them are the latest model heavy lifters, modified to carry Kanmusu and their riggings quickly into position. As a battleship, I really dislike it when I have to parachute out in full rigging. I always seem to lose altitude a little bit too fast.

Finally, I reach my usual spot at the aft end of the deck, where it is less crowded. I see the sea before me, beautiful, alluring, and full of many, many things that want to kill me.

Bloody bring it.

"BUUUUURRNIIIIING LOOOOOOOOVE!"

It might be corny, but somewhere along my career it has become my battle cry of sort. Everyone now expects me to say it every day to raise up morale, and I don't really mind. It brings some youth back into my decrepit, rustic body. Plus, screaming on top of my lungs feels surprisingly good, especially when I see the sailors around me start pumping their fists into the air, shouting their renewed vigour.

I turn on my heel and start walking back to the lower deck where the galleys are located, waving at the smiling enlisted men and women around me. Some of them even giving me salutes even though I'm currently out of uniform. Insignias or not, they know that I'm a Kanmusu, and thus has the rank of captain. Most Kanmusu does. Kanmusu of most nations generally have either the rank of captain, lieutenant commander, or equals (e.g. the french's 'capitaine de corvette'), or at least any rank high enough to hold the highest command of a large warship.

Returning the salutes of so many people slows me down a bit, but I finally reached the galley, where some of my comrades are having their late breakfast or early lunch. Like most Kanmusu posted on a small ship like the JDS Kaga, they mostly, with a few exceptions, consist of girls of normal human size at the very largest. Corvettes, destroyers, escort carriers, light cruisers, and small, older battleships bearing fourteen inchers or below. I really like this arrangement, mostly because I get to hold command more often. With most Kanmusu having the same rank, hierarchy usually gets decided in an ad-hoc manner based on a task force's purpose. On land bases or larger carriers, task forces usually formed around the fleet carriers, with battleships like me relegated to escort positions as glorified AA platforms.

"Sis!"

Somewhere along the far wall, Hiei, one of my sisters, calls me out. Well, I said sister, but if you stand us side by side only those that already knew us could ever guess that we're related. Unlike me, Hiei was purely built in Japan, and as a Kanmusu she possesses all the traits of a Japanese beauty. Round face, round eyes, full lips, jet black hair, and a full set of '36 cm 41st Year Type' naval cannons. In stark contrast, I was built in England with British steel, and as a woman, I boast sharp facial features, thin lips, triangular jaws, and other European traits including hazelnut hair and a set of Vickers 14/45 cannons.

"Sis! You're awake!" Hiei says as she approaches me. She's wearing her field uniform, a somewhat over the top version of a shrine maiden outfit that emphasises her beauty really well. I myself am wearing a casual attire that still adheres to the looser uniform regulation inflicted upon Kanmusu, consisting of jeans and a bluish shirt that I won't mind getting dirty. After all, we're on a carrier, and we Kanmusu know how disgusting life on a ship could be.

"Have you had your breakfast yet?" she asks with a hopeful face, and I immediately know what she's going to ask me.

"No." I say softly, almost whimpering.

"Then you're lucky, sis! I've just finished a batch of my special curry!"

I quietly look around, and see my comrades looking at me with pity in their eyes. Indeed, If one wanted to describe Hiei's cooking skill, the word 'nightmarish' would be repeated many, many times. I still remember my first time eating her curry. I will remember that moment and the many days of numb tongue after to my grave. Or rather, into my urn. I'm still Japanese, after all.

Talking about first time...

"Where's Iowa? I'm sure she'll like to have a taste of your cooking. I always enjoy a first-timer's reaction to your curry." I say, hiding a snicker.

"Well..." Hiei scratches the back of her head, seemingly hesitant to answer my thoughtless question.

"You can be honest with your sister, Hiei." I say reassuringly.

"Uh..." she begins slowly. "Honestly, I don't think she have left her room since yesterday..."

Now that one got my attention.

"And none of you have checked on her?"

"The American destroyers didn't seem to bother, so I don't see why I should."

"Hiei, all five of them are busy being prepared for their next sortie, of course they can't do anything."

Truly, destroyers are very underappreciated. Their low maintenance cost makes them ideal for daily operations, an advantage that the navy seems keen to squeeze every last bit of from the poor little girls. The American DDs were barely given the time to rest before being put to work, and they seemed oddly happy about it, too.

"It..." Hiei stuttered, only letting her lips give the slightest of opening as she speaks. "It's just that...she's hard to speak with, you know?"

I quickly remember the seemingly permanent, friendly smile that always marks Iowa's face.

"Really? I didn't get that impression."

"Well, It's hard for me, for us." Hiei looks around, and I see that my comrades are trying to avert their eyes from me and my sister, trying their hardest not to get involved. "I mean, she's the first of her kind here, and..."

Ah.., her kind, huh?

"Say no more. I understand." I smile as I pat my sister on top of her head. "Let me handle this, okay?"

Hiei answers silently with a sheepish nod.

With my hunger completely forgotten, I begin walking out of the galley, ignoring the stares on my back. As I make my way back towards the battleship wing, I suddenly feel a strong sensation tugging at the back of my conscience. A feeling somewhat similar to what I had felt when I saw Haruna being wounded yesterday. A sense of worry befitting of an older sister, or maybe even a mother.

I swiftly reach the door to the room that had been assigned to the first American battleship girl in Japan. I had walked with the utmost confidence until I got here, but now I find all that confidence has evaporated like a spilt water on a hot rocky road. What if I were just being a nuisance? I take pride in my ability to care for my friends. You could even say that I've put myself in a position akin to that of a foster parent to many younger ships. Now, Iowa is one of the youngest ships I've ever encountered, but what if the cultural barrier is higher than I thought? Americans value their privacy, right? Is an Asian-style sudden house visit without any prior scheduling a little bit too much?

Before I realise, I've already spent a full minute tottering about near Iowa's front door like a punished child. This is really frustrating. This is not like the usual me at all! Why am I acting like this?!

And then, suddenly, I hear it.

A quiet, muffled sobbing, one that one could expect coming from a teenage girl burying her head into her pillow and just...let go. It was like hearing the call of a lost kitten. Almost as if a thread had snapped inside my heart, all my doubt disappears as my hand moves up to knock on the door.

"Miss Iowa?" I call out.

The sobbing suddenly stops when the source suddenly realises that someone's listening.

"Y-yes?" Iowa answers from across the door. Her voice is weak and staggered, a great contrast to how she had greeted me the first time I've met her.

"Are you alright?" I ask. A rather bog standard inquiry, I admit

"Y...yeah! I'm fine!" Iowa shouts, quickly trying to compose herself, from the sound of it. "I just thought that I'd sleep in, that's all! The Admiral doesn't need me yet anyway."

"What about breakfast, then?" I counter. "You know it'll hurt if a capital ship doesn't get enough food."

That's the truth. Battleships and carriers often get a lot of flak for being gluttons, but it's really not about gluttony, more about practicality. when we're empty, we literally cannot operate, and it's physically painful for us, too. Even now I feel a little bit weak from missing my breakfast.

"J...just leave, alright?" Iowa says meekly, apparently running out of excuses.

"Look, I'm just going to go back to the galley and get you some food. Is that alright with you?" No capital ship can ever refuse an offering of food. It's in their nature.

Iowa takes about a quarter of a minute before she gives an answer.

"O...okay."

Even without seeing her face, I can Imagine her desperately trying to wipe her face with a ton of tissues. Well, this will give her some time to calm down, I guess.

"I'll be back in a minute. You just sit tight, aye?"

I make a swift return back to the galley and grab myself two large battleship-sized plates for Iowa and me. One I fill with bauxite toasts, oiled strip bacons, and a sunny-side up. One I fill with a portion of Hiei's curry, because I'm a sodding masochist (and also because Hiei is looking at me with a sisterly, expectant face).

When I finally reach Iowa's door again, My hands are so full that I have to knock with my foot.

"A second." Iowa answers my knock, and indeed, the door opens before me just a second later.

The girl standing before me can barely be related to the almost obscenely cheery girl that I had met before. Her hair is a mess, sticking to her skin from tears and sweat. Her recently wiped eyes are still wet and swollen, and her posture is slumped, as if her own breasts were a little too heavy for her.

"A bit of a mess, aren't you, lass?" I declare with a smile before Iowa can say otherwise.

A weak smirk perched itself on Iowa's face.

"I guess I am."

Iowa steps to the side, giving me room to walk into her room.

As expected of a personnel that has just arrived, Iowa's room is barely furnished, with grey walls and a single, Yamato sized bed. She at least got a desk and a really big, wooden chair tucked in one corner.

"Ehehe...a bit bland, isn't it?" Iowa says, faking a laugh.

"Want me to help you decorate when we enter port?" I offer. In times like this, it's better to start with a casual conversation to calm things down a bit.

"I guess...the bed's a little bit too short for me, so my ankles have been dangling all night."

Now that she's mentioned it, Iowa looks a little bit taller than even the Yamato. Living in such a small carrier will certainly be difficult for her, but I guess having at least one powerhouse ship to take care of the things the smaller ships can't is quite nice.

"I'm glad that you're here, you know." I speak my mind loudly. "The least I can do is to make you comfortable. I know a good furniture shop near Sasebo, let's go there together later, okay?"

"O...okay." Iowa says softly, suddenly looking flustered. I wonder what's bothering her.

"So, you want to eat by yourself, or do you want me to feed you?" I say jokingly as I put the plates on the desk.

To my surprise, Iowa takes a moment to seemingly consider my offer seriously before she suddenly shakes her head, her face red.

"I...I'll eat by myself, thank you!"

I chuckle. "There's no need to be that hyper, child. It was merely a joke."

"Uu..."

Iowa looks really irritated when I said that my offer of feeding her was just me being a joker. It's kind of cute, really.

"Can I use your chair?" I ask politely, handing Iowa her plate and utensils.

"S...sure. I'll eat on the bed."

Iowa sits on her bed. The corner of the desk is still close enough for her to use as a table, so we end up eating side by side with Iowa's plate right next to mine.

"Is it good?" I ask as Iowa begins chewing on her food.

"Uhm." Iowa answers, as much as she can with a mouthful. It's probably meant as a 'yes'.

"So...want to tell me what that was about?"

It appears that Iowa has calmed down a little bit, so I think it's safe to poke on the matter, at least a little. For a moment, Iowa's face suddenly looks downcast, but then she looks at me and gives me a tired smile.

"You know, I really enjoy talking with you."

That statement is so sudden that I actually feel butterflies in my stomach. What's that about?

"In fact, I really enjoy talking with everyone. I love seeing people's expressions as I crack a joke, seeing them laugh, starting conversations, that kind of stuff."

"Uh-huh." I give a noncommittal grunt, just to tell Iowa that I'm still listening.

"Back home, my friends and sisters always said that I tended to bring life into the room, and I think I got why. I really like it when people just...lit up, when I'm speaking to them."

I nod.

"So, you're a really socially adept girl. Any reason why you shut yourself in your room, not talking to anyone?"

Iowa looks back down to her plate.

"Well, the thing is, I can't really do that here."

"Hm?"

"I've actually come to the galley this morning, and I tried to do my usual. Barging in all cheerful-like, trying to start fun conversations..."

"I guess that didn't end well for you?"

"Heh, they all just stared at me." Iowa gives a painful chuckle. "And I thought my Japanese was quite flawless, too."

"It pretty much is." I answer honestly. Sure, you can definitely still hear Iowa's accent, but her linguistic skill is definitely better than some native Japanese that I've encountered in my long career.

"I even tried using faux English to bait for some laughs..."

"Faux English?"

"Yeah, speaking English using katakana and things like that..."

Ah, yes. The infamous 'Engrish'. I sometimes do that too at parties.

"And how that worked out for you?"

Iowa sighs.

"When they started looking at me like I'm some sort of a strange deep-sea fish, I just ran back and, well..."

Iowa stops talking, and from the look on her face, I know she's not going to speak again. So I guess it's my turn.

"The way I see it, you moving in a little bit too fast."

"Hm?"

"You're the first American here, and that carries a lot of baggage. You can't expect them to be too friendly at the first meeting."

Iowa sighs again.

"Yeah...I probably had an unrealistic expectation after you've been so friendly with me."

"Well, I am just that special of a girl, I guess."

"So..." Iowa slowly looks into my eyes. "Any advice?"

"Hm..." I push a finger into my chin, thinking. "I'd say you just stick around with me for the next couple of days, get the hang of our culture, sense of humour, and things of that nature."

Iowa face suddenly looks hopeful.

"You'll help me?"

"Of course. As I've said, I'm really glad that you're here. I think all of my sisters are free this evening. We could meet up in your room, get to know each other. It'd live up the place a bit, at the very least."

For the first time since I've entered, Iowa finally gives a genuine smile.

"That...that'd be nice, yeah..."

I smile back at Iowa, and as a friendly gesture, I tap her lightly on her exposed shoulder. I find the way the massive girl squirms when I touch her skin somewhat amusing.

"Stay strong, okay, big girl?"

My tongue in cheek comment is merely responded by a silent nod before Iowa goes back to her food.

"You haven't touched your food." Notices Iowa, her mouth half full.

"What, you want some?" I say jokingly, raising a spoonful of Hiei's curry towards Iowa.

"Sure." Iowa pecks on my spoon in an instant, devouring its content. Her eyes suddenly widen.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!?"

Priceless.

"THIS FOOD IS AMAZING!"

What.


	3. On Giant Guns and the Things They Shoot

"So, two farthings make one ha'penny. Two ha'pennies make one penny, which is intuitive enough, I'd say. Three pennies is a thrupenny bit. Two thruppences make for a sixpence. Two sixpences equal one shilling, otherwise called bob. Two bobs make a florin. One Florin and one Sixpence together make half a crown. Four half-crowns are ten bob notes. Two of these ten bob notes equal one pound or two hundred and forty pennies. One pound and one shilling equal one guinea."

"How the heck did their economy work back then?" asks the completely astonished Kirishima, her wide eyes pointed at me.

"They didn't." I say, laughing at the state of the British treasury in the John Blunt era, a fact that flies well over my dear sister's head.

I am just about to continue boasting about my knowledge of the Victorian monetary system when I see Iowa coming through a door that says 'Research and Development'.

"Ahh...I'm so tired..." Iowa yawns, stretching her arms and causing her still-full rigging to shake rather noticeably as she walks her way through the central building back to the armoury.

"Hard day, eh, lass?" I call out almost instinctively.

"Ah, Nana." Iowa turns, incidentally scanning me and my sister with her massive cannons for a moment before she realises her mistake. Unsurprisingly, Kirishima takes a step forward in a protective stance, trying to guard me from the evil American guns.

"Ah...sorry." Iowa raises her guns, looking guilty.

"Whoa, easy there, both of you." I say, stepping in front of Kirishima. "We're all friends here."

Though I can totally understand Kirishima's concern. Those guns can just delete both of us in seconds.

"So, how's the testing? I hope our scientists did not disappoint?" I ask, trying to provide a topic of conversation.

"It...it went well, I guess?" says Iowa somewhat awkwardly. To my relief, Kirishima seems to be less tense than before.

Among all the battleship girls in the world, Iowa and her sisters arguably have the most room for improvement. That's why the moment we reached shore she was quickly taken into the test chamber, so to say, where scientist from both the American Office of Naval Research (who had more resources) and JMSDF (who had more experience on shipgirls development) quickly tried to get the most out of her Mark 7 guns. They have mostly been working on expanding her versatility through varying the types of shells she can shoot.

Back in the previous war, the USN strongly focused their battleship research effort on developing the Mark 8 'superheavy' AP shells, so much that Iowa's 16-inch gun could actually compete with Yamato's 18.1-inch guns at long range due to the shells' superior capability to maintain velocity (18.1-inch shells were not exactly what you'd call aerodynamic). But this was at the cost of neglecting the research on other types of shells. For example, for high explosive needs Iowa is still firing the HC Mark 13 originally developed for the Colorado-class battleships, the American 'Big 7'. These shells are short, carried an anaemic amount of explosives for shells meant for the Big 7 battleships, and by far come short of bringing the full potential of a battleship as big as Iowa.

"So, what were you doing for today?" I ask.

"Well, we've been trying to make my own version of your type-three shells..."

"Oh? The air-burst anti-aircraft shells?" ask Kirishima, now looking more curious than hostile. She has always been the academically inclined one among us sisters, and it seems that her curiosity had overridden her caution of the American ship.

"Yeah. They said that while they were rather ineffective when fired by purely steel warships, they've been rather effective when deployed by a shipgirl."

Kanmusu science is weird.

"They are." Kirishima confirms, smiling somewhat proudly. "Any name for the project?"

"Uh...Mark 143, HE-CVT."

"Hm..." Kirishima put a finger on her chin, thinking. "High Explosive, Controlled Variable Time Fuze. You're using the same technology as your mid-calibre auto-cannons?"

"y...yes, I guess?" Iowa says softly, obviously nervous from Kirishima's sudden increase in apparent friendliness and enthusiasm as she basically runs towards the American battleship, completely ignoring her scary guns.

"That's awesome!" Kirishima shouts almost directly on Iowa's face.

"It is?" Iowa asks, somewhat befuddled.

"It is! Abyssal planes tend to cluster together, you see. Imagine how many of them you could bring down in one shot! And with proximity fuzes, you wouldn't even need to count your luck setting the timers!"

Kirishima's enthusiasm seems to be contagious, as soon Iowa and I began to smile, too.

"I've heard you didn't get that many air kills back in your steel days. Now's your chance to act as a proper CV escort." I add, tired of being pretty much ignored.

Iowa's face suddenly turns grim, as if remembering something unpleasant. "Ukh, in term of air kills, William D. Porter actually outclasses me..."

"Who?" I ask.

"Uhh...nobody." Iowa quickly denies.

"Never mind that. Anything else you've been working on? If it's not confidential, of course." asks Kirishima enthusiastically.

"Well, there are some concerns about Abyssal PT imps lately, so we've been working on anti-personnel shells...the Mark 144 and Mark 146, containing M77 SADARM bomblets or "Bouncing Betty" grenades, with time-fuzes."

"Uh-huh, and?" Kirishima says, clearly expecting more.

"Well, other than Mark 147 which are basically just bigger HE shells for me...we've also been working on a discarding sabot system for the W23 warheads..."

"W23? What is that?"

Ah, I've heard of this one before. Frankly, I am surprised Kirishima have not.

"They're nuclear shells, right?"

At the word 'nuclear', Kirishima's face suddenly goes sour.

"Ju-, it's just in case, you know? It's for last resort, I swear!"

Of course, Japan still has laws forbidding any nuclear weapons from entering her territory, so barring some desperate situations these 'sabot-rounds' will probably remain unused. Kirishima doesn't seem convinced, however.

"S...sorry." Iowa slumps, suddenly looking very small and obviously regretting telling Kirishima about her capability to nuke Japanese territory.

But, unexpectedly, Kirishima suddenly sighs.

"Ah, what the hell." Kirishima says with a tired smile, patting Iowa on the shoulder. "you look tired, Miss Iowa."

"Huh?" Iowa looks confused. Probably as confused as me.

"Have you tried our bath yet? Not the dock. I mean the onsen."

"Uh...can't say I have..."

"Really? You really should put in the effort to quickly familiarise with our communal bath. It's essential for the understanding of the Japanese culture."

"Heh?" Iowa sounds even more confused.

"So, why don't you quickly get rid of those bulky guns of yours, and then we'll go to the bath together? We can talk about other things, preferably things that don't explode."

"I..." It takes Iowa's brain a few seconds to comprehend what Kirishima was asking her to do. But after that, she quickly smiles. "I would love that."

"Then let's go! To the armoury!" Kirishima shouts while pushing Iowa along. "Nee-san! you're coming too!"

Well, I'd say, that went better than it could've been.


	4. Bathing Scene

**SUddenly have a sudden craving for Iowa. Might update this for a bit.**

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* * *

Oh blimey.

I've seen it a couple of times now, but those...she's still quite the sight.

"Ahh…this is great…" Iowa sighs like an old man. I notice the water level rising as she slowly and delicately puts her massive body in the bath. I can see her white skin quickly reddening from the heat, flushing her face as her expression turns into that of pure bliss.

My heartbeat is rising up. Quite the normal occurence while inside a hot bath, of course, but it's been getting faster than usual lately.

"Hm? What is it?"

I suddenly realise that I've been staring at a single spot on Iowa's body for a little bit too long.

"It...it's nothing."

Nothing? Really? That's my excuse?

The normal me would've said something more eloquent, like mentioning the eye-catching mole that marked Iowa's otherwise flawless skin just under her left breast. But for some reason, my brain can't even keep me from stuttering.

Fortunately, my sister does not suffer the same mysterious symptoms I do and decides to interrupt.

"So, Iowa-chan, you once had a bath like this installed in you, right?" asks Kirishima. "Carrying your president and all that?"

"No, nothing like this." answers Iowa. "It was kind of a slap-dash, really. After all, it was supposed to be a secret mission…"

I take the distraction from Kirishima as a chance to avert my gaze and calm myself. In the process, I accidentally point my eyes towards the only other group in the bath.

The destroyers.

You know, I still feel weird calling these cute little girls 'destroyers'. Such an inelegant, if functional, classification.

"We expect that we will soon upgrade our entire mid-range AA to 3-inch guns. If so, then a lot of our old 40mm will be coming to Japan by the next year." Said Cassin Young, who somehow still manages to look prim and proper in the bath.

"That's going to be nice." says Fubuki, her black hair missing her usual ponytail. "I've got one of my turrets removed to install more 25mm guns, but my gain in plane kills has been abysmal, so to say. Definitely not worth losing two guns."

"Nana, you're okay?"

I snap from my daze and turn my head.

And is suddenly faced with Iowa's eyes, literally sparkling just a few fingers away from my nose.

Iowa's eyes have always fascinated me.

They're flawless, without any blood vessels or bumps visible on the surface. The whole things look like they're made of glass marbles, the kind that children used to play with. Her irises are monotone blue, with the yellow star patterns inside strengthening their likeness to the aforementioned children's toy. I can't see any hint of pupils.

Frankly, these eyes would look creepy on any other person, since they resemble those of a lifeless doll, but Iowa bears them with such vigour, darting them all over the place like a baby, always taking in new information, always curious.

They're mesmerising.

"Nana, are you alright? You look a bit stiff..." Iowa asks. I need to punch myself mentally to start speaking again.

"Eh, I'm fine, child. It's just my joints, see."

Being old as sin has its advantages, I guess.

"Want me to massage you?" Iowa asks, her eyes shine even brighter.

"Uhh. that won't be necessary." I answer immediately, feeling my core temperature rising up fast. The water must be a little bit warmer than usual today.

"But I'm very good at taking care of old ships. My crew still remember a thing or two from when I was a museum." Iowa follows, her voice hopeful. "Only a bit, though. I can barely remember things past 1945."

"As I've already said…"

"Aww, come on!"

Iowa moves in closer, her eyes gleaming with an almost supernatural affection.

I'd need to be the devil himself to refuse that kind of face.

"I guess it's fine once in a while…"

"Yay!"

Iowa moves to sit right beside me, her hip and part of her bottom flesh touching me.

"Oh? This should be good." Kirishima comments.

"We'll start with your back, is that fine?"

"I guess…"

"Great! Now sit in front of me, please."

What.

"I mean, it's not ideal. I'd prefer to put you on a padded table, but I can work without."

Well, balls. I guess I've lost my chance to say no.

Slowly, I move my butt over and set it in front of Iowa, who herself sits with her long legs opening wide to make enough space for me. Her knees are bent, yet they still reach the level of my head.

Blimey she's huge.

"I'll begin now, okay?"

I sigh, somewhat exasperated by the sudden turn of events.

"Go ahead, champ. Let's get this over wi-"

My mouth suddenly locks up mid-opening.

It's not just my mouth. The moment Iowa's fingers touch me, my entire upper body immediately tightens.

"Wha...aah~"

I keep trying to speak, but I can't control my jaws. The air that comes through my slack vocal chords just makes some strange, unintelligible noise instead.

"Oh...wow." Kirishima utters, looking at me with an indiscernible expression. I must be making a really weird face right now.

"How is it? I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"N...no." I struggle to say. "Just...could you go s-slower?"

"Hm? Lower? I guess I can."

I damned my own shivering lips as Iowa moves her hands lower on my back, just behind my armpits.

"Hm? You know, Miss Kongou, you're the kind of person that looks slender in clothes, aren't you?

"...huh?"

"I mean, your breasts are quite big for your body, aren't they?"

"Not as big as yours, though." I say, forcing myself to deliver my words clearly this time. I need to regain some dignity, dammit.

"Hm, but I'm very strong, you see."

"Are you calling me a weakling now?"

"No, it's just that for me, the weight doesn't affect me all that much, but for you…"

Without warning, Iowa circles her left arm around my waist and moves it up, supporting my breasts from below. I immediately feel a great tension being relieved from my back.

"How's that? Does it help?"

"Yes, surprisingly." I say, meanwhile calming my breath. "Funny, I've never noticed how heavy they are."

"Most don't, until their spine got bent into a weird angle once they hit 40."

"Well, I don't exactly age anymore, but thanks anyway."

"You're welcome. Now let's continue, shall we?"

"Eh? Wait…"

Before I can say anything, Iowa has begun to resume her work. Her hands moving even lower on my back.

"Hyaaahn~"

I try my hardest to keep my mouth shut, but my jaws are beyond my control.

"Oh, my." Kirishima comments. "This...this is kind of...adult."

"Hm? What do you mean?" Iowa says confusedly. "We are adults. Even me. Technically."

Well, there goes my dignity as an older sister.

I guess I can't really escape now.

I'll just chalk this up to my long list of 'things I enjoy but will surely regret later'.

"Aaahn~"


	5. Her Worries

"Hey." Iowa calls out.

"Yeah." I answer with a whisper. The room is dark, with the only lightsource in the room being the little television illuminating the two of us.

"Thank you."

"For what?" I ask absent-mindedly, trying to concentrate on the moving picture in front of me. Yet even so I can't even remember the title of the film.

"For helping me out...you know."

"I didn't do much." I say, tightening Iowa's blanket around me while trying to not look at the girl herself. "You're just naturally friendly."

Iowa shifts her weight, making me uncomfortably aware of her presence on the bed beside me.

"I...I just want you to know that I very much appreciate your friendship."

I look to the side. Iowa is hugging her knees with her face locked to the screen. She's wearing just about next to nothing, only a pair of panties and a single layer of camisole. The room is still dark, but the dazzle of the television screen on her skin is just enough to make me notice her curves.

"Think nothing of it, kid." I say, trying my best to keep my composure.

A moment of relative silence passes, only interrupted by the very faint dialog emanating from the screen. It's almost midnight so the volume is set to low with the two of us mostly just reading the subtitle. Well, at least we're trying to.

"What are you planning to do after this?" Iowa asks suddenly.

"After what?" I ask back..

"After the war."

Well that comes out of nowhere.

"What brings this up?"

Iowa hugs her knees tighter, averting her eyes from the screen to her toes.

"You see, me and my sisters have lived through a lot of wars before this."

"Uh-huh." I say calmly, and perhaps even maternally if I may say so myself.

"Korea, Vietnam, the Gulf…it just never ends."

"You're afraid that we'd just go to war again after we've defeated the Abyssals."

Iowa goes silent. Perhaps she did not expect me to finish her words like that.

"Kongou." she calls my name. "I've seen enemies became friends and friends became enemies, over and over again."

Ah, yes, the tragedy of nations. Countries do not actually have friends, only interests. The grandsons of the people that once celebrate a mutual victory might end up pointing their guns at each other barely a decade later.

"I'm scared." Iowa whimpers. "What if I have to hurt you someday?"

For some, Kanmusu are soldiers at best, war machines at worst.

So her concern is a sensible one, I guess.

"Hey, Iowa, do you like broccoli?"

"Wh-what?"

"You heard me."

Iowa tilts her head, obviously confused.

"No, they're disgusting." She finally says.

"See? You have free will."

Iowa looks at me strangely.

Suddenly, she bursts into laughter, loud enough that I am afraid that someone is going to knock on the door complaining about the noise.

"S...sorry. I just...it would've never crossed my mind that someone was going to soothe my depression by talking about a vegetable."

I smile weakly. "Feeling better?"

Iowa wipes her teary eyes. I'd like to think that those are happy tears.

"Yeah." She smiles. "Thanks."

Well, that was easy.

"Hey, can I hug you?" Iowa says out of nowhere.

"What."

"Er...It's fine if you don't want to, I mean, if it's rude by Japanese standard..."

I sigh.

This girl is going to be such a handful, isn't she?

"Sure. Come here. " I scuttle closer to Iowa, still wrapped in blanket.

Then without warning, a mountain of barely-clothed flesh surrounds me, trapping my body in-between arms the size of cherry trees. Meanwhile, I can feel soft things being pressed against my back.

I can feel my body temperature rising.

…

It's not an unpleasant feeling though.

Perhaps I can get used to this.


End file.
